


Restorative

by orphan_account



Series: Contrast in Love [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-War, Angst, F/M, Not Epilogue Compliant, One Shot, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 14:00:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6522772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ONE SHOT: <i>She's never been in love before, and now she is. And strangely enough, it's perfect. It's not the being in love with him part that she's scared of, Hermione realizes. It's losing him. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Restorative

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first time posting to this site, though certainly not my first time writing fic. I'm also BonaFake on FFN, where all of my work is currently posted, and tumblr, where you can contact me and request one shots or birthday fics. Enjoy!

[no.]

She knows she’s being vulgar, she knows she’s being rude, but really, what else would she do? It’s really the only thing she wants to do right now, because she’s locked herself into the bathroom on the third floor and is pretty damn pissed off. For a lot of reasons. 

Because this is Draco fucking Malfoy’s house. 

Because Harry was a meddling arsehole that just couldn't stop interfering with her life.

Because this is Draco fucking Malfoy’s house. 

Because the entirety of her graduating class is in the room below her, except for Ron.

And finally, because this is Draco fucking Malfoy’s house. 

Hermione sighs and picks up her purse. The lipstick that she bought, or really, that Luna bought for her as an early birthday present, is pretty and coral colored and tasteful and one hundred and ten percent deserves a fate like this, a fate of being smeared onto an antique mirror that’s worth more than what she makes in a year of work and happens to belong to Draco Malfoy. 

Now that she thinks about it, she’s not quite sure why she’s doing this. Malfoy’s been nothing short of a gentleman since she’s been here. There’s not much of a motivation for her to go around vandalizing his stuff. But she’s here and she’s already pulled out the lovely tasteful coral lipstick that she needs to get rid of, destroy this instant, and she’s going to do it. Quickly, in her signature scrawl, she writes Mudblood was Here in the goddam tasteful coral lipstick. It looks quite pretty on the glass, and she uses her wand to cast a Permanent Sticking Charm on it. Smirking, she thinks to herself that Malfoy won't be getting that off any time soon.  
When she returns downstairs, the party is in full swing. Someone, or perhaps many someones have procured large amounts of firewhiskey, and bottles and cup and glasses are being passed around. Hermione grabs a cup and takes more than a few sips. It’s a good one, full bodied with a smoky aftertaste and a great oaky scent. She should know. Firewhiskey is friend, not foe, or pretty much the opposite of what she’d preached at Hogwarts. But no matter, because she’s making up for it right now. 

Her cup gets refilled several times throughout the night, and she has a few more drinks and flirts with a few more wizards, and she licks her lips a few more times than necessary. There’s no point to it, really, she just wants to do something she doesn't want to remember. She doesn't want to remember. 

So that’s why she ends up in the corner sucking face with Dean Thomas and drinking the unfortunately poor quality liquor that they had broken into after the firewhiskey ran out. Hermione hasn't thought of Dean since school ended. So she takes a few more shots of bad vodka and he’s not a particularly good kisser and there’s too much tongue and lots of teeth but she isn't either when she’s had as much as she’s had and he drunkenly decides to guide her home and she lets him.  
When she’s finally stumbling through the doorway of her flat, she wants to vomit. Perhaps several times. She’s not quite sure. All she knows is that someone’s helping her through the door and into the couch, and it isn't Harry. Or perhaps it is. She has no idea. But who ever he is, he’s settling her down onto the couch, and handing her a Sober Up Potion which she declines to drink at the moment, and then she’s falling asleep. 

Hermione wakes up several times during the night. One of these, she makes an attempt to drink the Sober Up. She does have work in the morning, after all. 

[.]

Hermione wakes up after her alarm goes off at seven. It’s loud, as usual, but with the headache she’s got, the alarm is five times worse. No, make that ten times. She groans, and then discovers a crick in her back from sleeping on the bloody couch. It hurts, and her head hurts, and she’s thinking of calling a sick day but then what would she do? Nothing except for stare at the walls of her flat and she really fucking doesn't want to do that. Not right now. 

After she apparates to work, she heads straight to her office and works and goes through paperwork and notes and studies a case all until she has to go home to her lonely flat and have a glass or maybe two of something. Or just go to bed with a few or maybe more than a few sips of Dreamless Sleep in her chamomile tea, she muses. The Dreamless Sleep option takes less time, and she resolves to do that instead of anything else. 

She doesn't make it home to her potions and bed and pillow before she’s accosted by Malfoy, though. And he looks mad. It’s a sign that he definitely saw the little message she smeared onto his bathroom mirror last night. She was sober enough to remember that. It was so satisfying, doing that because she knew it would make him mad. Making him mad is a constant. It’s comeback for every single time he called her a name or insulted her hair at Hogwarts. It’s reminiscent of, or at least to her, those sitcoms her mother used to watch when she had her memories. 

“Granger,” he greets her. 

“Malfoy,” she replies. Since she started work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she’s seen far too much of him. He’s the one of the other prosecutors on her team, and they have to at least work together well. It’s awful. 

“Why did you write that on my mirror last night?” he demands, looking like the annoyed ferret that he is. 

“Ron didn't show up,” she says sullenly, realizing now that it really doesn't sound like a good excuse for smearing lipstick onto a mirror in a nasty slur and placing it under a permanent sticking charm. 

“Fuck Ron. Harry was there. Ron hasn't been here for a year,” he says snappishly. “For all we know he’s off in the country sprogging up some unfortunate blond bint.”  
Hermione glares and stalks off. She doesn't get far before Malfoy stops her, though. “Sorry,” he says. 

“It’s okay. I just- I expected him to come. It’s the first year since the war ended, and Harry needed him here.”

 

“That’s not a reason for covering my mirror in lipstick,” says Malfoy sharply. 

“I was mad at you too. I don't know why.”

“I think you need to go home and sleep,” he responds, not even sounding really mad now. “You look exhausted.”

She nods and walks to the apparition bank, getting ready to go home. Malfoy’s right behind her, looking cross and just as tired as her. Suddenly, though he reaches around her neck and curves her towards him. 

Their lips meet in the middle. He’s a brilliant kisser with hard perfectly shaped lips and just enough teeth scraping against her bottom lip and he drags her lips open with a few artful touches of his tongue and once he’s done that she’s a goner and their tongues are fighting and he tastes sweet but but it’s Malfoy and so what if their lips fit together perfectly he’s still the guy that let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and she should hate him even though he tastes like perfection she never thought she could have again. When they break apart, she looks at him for a little bit too long and then apparates quickly to her home. 

Shite shite shite shite she just kissed Draco Malfoy and it was the best bloody snog of her whole life but that doesn't really matter does it? Because it’s wrong and no matter how good a kisser he is, she doesn't want a relationship right now. She wants to forget about the remainder of the human race. 

Hermione walks into her bedroom, pours her nightly dosage of Dreamless Sleep, gulps it down, and takes half of another one. She’s had a hard day, she deserves it. And she wants to sleep without anything clouding her thoughts for tonight. Not Bellatrix, slicing into her arm with a cursed dagger or torturing until she wanted death. Not Harry, looking dead on the floor. Not Malfoy, his artful mouth on hers. She wants to sleep. And to do that, she needs a few more sips of the potion.  
She falls back onto the bed and into a deep sleep. Dreamless Sleep, Hermione decides, is really and truly marvelous. 

[.]

When she gets to work the next morning, there’s a huge flower arrangement on her desk. She frowns. Harry wouldn't send this kind of thing, and Ron’s still missing in action, so it couldn't be either of them. Whatever. Hermione can just enjoy the lovely flowers without any strings attached.

Except there are strings attached because there are always fucking strings attached. As she grabs the pot to move it off of her desk, there’s a note stuck to the bottom. Sorry is all it says, and Hermione shrugs it off until she recognizes the handwriting. There’s no question of it. Draco Malfoy wrote the note and gave her impressive flowers. Now what the fuck should she do? 

Hermione makes a conscious decision not to do anything except for move the flowers and work. There’s really nothing else she can do. 

She works until there’s a loud knock at her door. When she opens it, someone’s standing there, and then Hermione remembers. Fuck. She promised a lunch date to Luna, didn't she? 

“Hello,” Luna says, looking at the flowers on the floor next to Hermione. 

“Hello, Luna.”

“Those are lovely flowers.”

Hermione looks at them. Irises, lilacs, orchids, and poppies look back at her. They are pretty, and she wishes that they weren't from him. Because being with him makes everything come back, the fighting, the shouted curses, the memories. Because she hates reminders of the war, and he’s one of them. It’s why she doesn’t see Harry very much now. He’s a reminder too. 

Luna and Hermione walk to lunch. She hasn't seen much of her friends in the past year. After graduating Hogwarts, she plunged herself into work and and studying and winning the battles in front of the Wizengamot. Hermione prides herself on winning almost every single one of the court fights she had gotten into and being the best prosecutor and youngest Head of the DMLE. It was work, work and school that had gotten her though Ron leaving them the second after the funerals. She loves work, wants it, craves it even. The thrill of fighting the bad guys, even now, even in the courtroom, is too much for her to resist. She doesn't tell anyone that.  
When they’re at the restaurant, Luna chattering on about a trip that her and some sort of magizoologist are taking somewhere, Hermione lets her thoughts drift. To the flowers, to the kiss. What’s the apology even for? Making her mad about Ron? Or the part that happened after that? 

She doesn't know. Hermione hates not knowing. 

When they return from the restaurant, Hermione and Luna are both lost in worlds of their own, and she barely registers the new pile of notecards that have found their way into her office. She finally notices them, though, once she’s seated and Luna’s gone and she’s alone with her reports and over-sweet coffee and too many quills to really be reasonable. When Hermione shifts, she knocks the neat stack over, and sees Sorry written on the front of the first. Malfoy again. Fuck, she really needs to talk to him. And he needs to stop trying to apologize because it doesn’t make sense because the world is a confusing place and mistakes happen. 

As she’s leaving the office late at night, she gets her chance. Her route to the Floo is obstructed by him, standing in her path. “I’m sorry,” he says, standing in front of her. 

She doesn't know what he’s trying to apologize for. And she doesn’t want to know. Shut up. Shut up. “For what?”

“For everything. For what happened during the war and-”

She cuts him off. Hermione does not want to hear this. She does not want to hear him apologize for something he had no control over. He had not choice and she does not want to hear about it. “No. I don’t want your apologies, Malfoy, okay?”

“I have to,” he says. “I need to apologize.”

“For what? Your court mandated meetings?” she asks, sneering as she does so. He might not really deserve it, those sneers, but she’s mad right now and she wants to make nasty faces at the boy who tormented her for years and is now only trying to make nice with her because she signed his paychecks.

“No, those stopped months ago,” he snaps right back. 

She stops and looks at him. “You actually went to the meetings?”

“Yes,” he says cautiously. 

“Oh.”

And she walks off to the apparition banks, because she just wants to get home, get home the same way she’s done the whole time since she started working. It’s still late and quiet, but the night life in Diagon Alley should still be busy.

Maybe she’ll call Ginny and go to the bar with her. She hates her new boyfriend, but she won’t pass up time with one of her dearest friends. Hermione sends a patronus before leaving the building, waiting to see if she gets back to her in time. She doesn’t though, and Hermione decides that she really just wants to go to the pub and doesn’t care whether it’s with someone else or just a bottle of firewhiskey. Maybe two.

[.]

She’s sitting alone up at the bar, surrounded by people and perfume and shot glasses. Hermione’s so drunk her fellow prosecutors might make a comment about her hangover the next morning and it usually takes a lot of firewhiskey to get to the point where she gets so drunk Sober-up doesn’t do the trick for stopping it. When she’s on her seventh shot someone else comes up to the bar and he’s obviously a guy and he’s obviously flirting with her and blond and really quite handsome so she lets herself flirt back smile prettily and give the whole kissing thing a try and when she does he’s an excellent kisser so she does a bit more of it and he’s delicious and sweet and his tongue is just like heaven but then things start to get a bit clearer and shite. 

Shite. It’s Malfoy again. She looks up at him foggy-eyed. He’s just as drunk as her, maybe even more. She blinks her eyes. Yes, it’s definitely him. “Malfoy?” she asks, looking at him with surprise. 

“Granger?” he says with very little. 

“Shite.”

“I don’t think so. I like it. Wanna shag? It makes everything better. Usually,” and hiccups. 

“No,” she snorts, and looks at him. “Just how drunk are you?”

“Not very. I knew you wouldn’t. So now- I’m sorry,” he says, slurring more than just a bit. 

Hermione looks at him with narrowed eyes, and rubs her forehead. Damn headaches. “I actually think you’re pretty drunk. I’m going to make you go home.”

“Okay,” he says, stumbling as he gets up from the barstool. She walks him over to Tom, the bartender. “This is Draco Malfoy. Can you get him home?”

Tom nods and grabs his arm. “Alright, boy.”

Hermione glances back, but only once. Then she apparates home, takes a full dosage and a half of a controlled substance, and collapses onto her bed. 

[.]

She wakes up to a knock on the door and an awful headache. When she actually gets up, there’s someone standing there. Fuck. It’s Malfoy again. Why the hell is he following her? “How did you get my address?” she asks without greeting.

“I got it from the office,” he admits, holding a large bouquet of red roses. She glares. 

“What’s with the roses?” Hermione asks. 

“I think I’m in love with you,” responds Malfoy, gulping slightly. A look at him says that he really does, that he’s not just trying to manipulate her. Maybe. She’s never been particularly good at reading people. 

Hermione takes a deep breath in. “I think you think so, which is why I’m going to do this. You’re in love with the idea of me. I don’t know why. It might be because you think you can say sorry to me, and it can apologize for your wrongdoings during the war. I don't fucking want apologies. I don't need them. There was a war, and even though that doesn't excuse everything, it does excuse kids that were forced into battle on the wrong side, okay? You don't fucking need to apologize to me, okay! Why don't you fucking get it?”

She’s shaking his shoulders now nearly crying angry so fucking angry about how broken they are that this boy thinks he needs to apologise for something he didn't want something he didn't choose and wouldn't do if he could do it over again it’s such a fucking mess and they’re both leaning forward now and crying crying their eyes out and angry angry angry angry and the third kiss is with hard chapped tear saturated lips and teeth and fighting to apologize and not accept it and there isn't any love involved but something maybe a bit like it and she backs away so fast after that shoving him out of the doorway and locking the door behind her. 

She did it again. Fuck. Why the hell can't she stop kissing Malfoy? Maybe because she thinks she needs to say sorry. She was the one that didn't testify at his trial, even though Harry and Ron did. She was the one that crossly organized obligatory meetings for ex Death Eaters but didn't attend. She might think she needs to apologize. Fuck. She can't, not if she doesn't let him apologize. It doesn't matter. The past is in the past and it doesn't matter. They were shoved into their places as pawns, prepared and prepped to die by each of their respective sides. 

The war stole their childhoods, their sanity, their everything. She isn't going to make anyone apologize for something that shouldn't have happened. It wasn't fair, the fact that he wanted to apologize for that. Hermione isn't going to let him. 

She wipes the tears off of her face and walks over to the fireplace. Hermione decides that she really can't go to work today, not right now. She prepares to tell her department head that she needs the day off work, that she’s ill and can't come in. So she does. 

When she heads back into her bedroom, something is different. There’s a large vase of orange tulips sitting on her desk. Hermione sighs. There’s a note from Malfoy underneath. Dear Hermione, it starts. I want to see you, or talk to you or something. Please let me.

She knows that it’s asking. It’s asking for permission to apologize. Hermione plans to say no. 

[.]

When she arrives at work the next morning, her office is a windowless greenhouse. Hermione tries to focus on her work, but it’s nearly impossible. He’s on her mind. And it’s terrible. 

[yes.]

He looks into her office to see how the flowers are doing. The Victorian floral messages might be a touch too much for her, but Theo swears by the system. He really should stop taking relationship advice from guys that have new beau's every twenty four hours. Hermione doesn't seem mad about them, though. That’s good.  
He doesn't go in, simply because she might get mad and they might kiss again. She was a good kisser. Draco doesn't know why she kissed him yesterday. It was good, yes, but why?

He fucking wants to apologize for everything, calling her names in school, not stopping his aunt from torturing her, fighting against her in the final battle. He needs to apologize. 

Later that day, when he’s walking out of his office (late) he sees her. Hermione’s carrying a large bunch of dark purple roses. Does she know what they mean? You occupy my every thought. Maybe she does. 

When she passes by him, she pauses. “Thanks for all the flowers,” Hermione says. “They’re lovely.”

He’s certain this is going to come out as an undignified stutter, but he has to say it. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” Draco asks, not really stuttering, but  
not at full speaking capacity either. 

“Okay,” Hermione replies, and there’s a little smile at the end of it. 

“I’ll try not to apologize,” he says. 

“Good.” And then she’s gone, apparating out of the Ministry to her home and bed and sleep. He should do the same. 

[.]

That night, Draco fire calls Pansy because he needs advice on what to do and even though Theo’s alright when it comes to sending subliminal messages with purple  
roses, Pansy is far better with relationship stuff. “I need help,” he says. 

“With what?”

“Hermione. I asked her out on a fucking date and I don't know what the fuck to do.”

“Really? Well, I don't think she’ll want to go to the most expensive Wizarding restaurant there is. Something simple then?”

“Sure,” he agrees blindly. 

“A picnic in the park,” Pansy coos. “That’s cute.”

“Alright,” Draco replies. “You plan it.”

So Pansy does plan it, and sends him the full handwritten plan the next morning when he’s left his office to go over to her’s to set a date and all that shite. 

“Sunday, then. Tomorrow,” they agree. And it’s wonderful. It’s perfect. He can go on a date with her. Maybe she’ll let him apologize for everything then. Because he feels like he owes her, like he’s not worthy of working with her or kissing her unless he’s said sorry for all of the awful things that he’s done, that he did. And he hasn't. So now he has to. 

[.] 

He meets her at the park as planned, picnic basket and blanket in hand. The sun is out, and it’s beautiful weather today. They spread the blanket out underneath a large oak tree and start eating. 

Draco and Hermione talk, talk about work and their mutual friends and then about muggleborn issues, and he doesn't even have to fake his stance on them because she agrees on almost everything except for getting rid of Muggle studies. He wants it, she doesn't. It’s a fascinating discussion, and she talks to him like they’re equals. Like they both deserve a say in the matter. As if, he almost scoffs. I watched you being tortured in my house and I didn’t stop it. No, he thinks. He doesn’t deserve equality. But she’s giving it to him anyways and he’s going to take it because he’s a Slytherin and incredibly opportunistic. 

When they’re finally winding down from the talking they both reach over and then their fourth kiss starts and it doesn't stop their tongues fighting and both of them melting into each other and Hermione tastes like honey and strawberries and forgiveness and he needs it needs her needs to touch her soft skin that’s covered in a blue and yellow sundress and her lips are soft and warm and she just feels so perfect the moment is perfect and he doesn't know if there’s ever going to be another one after that. 

But there is another moment after that one when they finally come up for air and she smiles and says, “My place?”

They pack up everything quickly and apparate over to her flat even more quickly and then his lips are on hers again hand sliding up her dress over her curves and toward the zipper while hers are heading down a bit towards his pants where he’s already rock hard and ready. Hermione’s ready as well, wearing a yellow bra and blue panties and nothing else. Like the sky, Draco thinks, but only a little bit, because now her teeth are at his pants zipper and her soft hands have pulled him out.  
He groans rather unbecomingly when her lips first touch his hard length, licking and tasting and making him feel like he might have gone to heaven, which is stupid because bad guys don't go to heaven. But her hand and mouth sure as fuck feel like it, and then when he’s grabbed at her hair and about ready to burst, Hermione starts sucking really hard on his cock and he explodes in her mouth. She swallows most of his come, and then when she couldn't get all of it, licks her lips to finish the rest.

And then because the bed is all the way over there and it’s too fucking far away for them right now he sits her down on the couch and pulls off her knickers and licks and sucks and bites at her dripping cunt and she comes after a few expert twists of his tongue around her throbbing clit and she’s fucking gorgeous when she does all splayed out on the couch and sweaty and fully nude her rosy nipples displayed to the cold air.  
Draco sits next to her, his cock already hard again at the sight of her post orgasmic self. Hermione turns towards him and kisses him on the mouth, hot little open mouthed kisses that say so much and feel like so little. 

She turns towards him, straddling his waist, and he’s definitely hard again, because her pretty tits are bobbing right near his head, and Draco captures one rosy nipple in his mouth. Hermione moans a little bit at that, and he keeps twisting and licking, and then finally, fucking finally, she lowers herself onto his cock.  
He groans at bit at the feeling of her tight sheath, hot and slick and wet. They start to move in tandem, her jumping up and down on top of his cock, and him meeting her thrust for thrust. It’s perfect and with every movement he can feel her muscles fluttering all around him and her dark brown eyes are closed tight and now he can feel his orgasm starting to build a hot tight coil inside of him and he can feel her too with her muscles starting to tighten and because he wants her to come over the edge with him too he starts rubbing her clit and they both explode all at once and is everything supposed to be bathed in gold light or is he just seeing things but it doesn't really matter because he just fucked Hermione Granger and everything is sort of perfect right now. 

[.]

When he wakes up, it’s about seven at night. Draco does the math on his fingers. That means that they slept for about six hours. Perfect. Now they can go out for supper. He rolls over on the couch, running his fingers through Hermione’s cinnamon scented hair. Draco breathes in deeply, smelling sex and her and something lemony that he’s pretty sure is her perfume. 

Hermione rolls over onto him, and wakes up suddenly. “Hello,” he says pleasantly. 

“Hey,” Hermione responds, yawning. 

“I was thinking we should go out to dinner,” Draco whispers into her ear. 

“Sure. Where?”

“There’s a dinner place that I really like,” he responds and they both get up from the sticky couch and start to get dressed. Hermione rushes into her bedroom and puts on another dress. Spring green. She’s beautiful. He pushes his sticky hair off of his forehead and wonders why she said yes. 

Ten minutes later, they’re in front of a restaurant in Diagon Alley and ready to go in. It’s a casual place, one where business associates usually go for lunch, not one that people who might be dating or perhaps not go for dinner. But it’s still open and he likes the food. He hopes she does, too.

While they’re walking home after the meal, holding hands and and full and satiated in more than one way, they both try to avoid the topic of what happens next. The future isn't something most children of war take for granted, and he’s not about to spoil everything they’ve done by bringing up bullshite like tomorrow. Because tomorrow is hazy, a dusky outline of maybes and possibilities, and he doesn't want to pretend that it’s guaranteed to them. He doesn't want to assume. 

So when Hermione takes him back to her flat after they’ve had large ice cream sundaes with chopped nuts and chocolate sauce, he’s a little bit surprised. Draco was not expecting a tomorrow. 

[.]

They are together, without a doubt, within the month. He doesn't ask questions, he just knows. He knows it when he starts kissing her in public without much fanfare, he knows it when they don't have to fuck every single time they see each other, and he knows it when she drinks red wine while she’s sorting through legal reports from work. It’s in the perfect domesticity of their lives, the way in which they’ve woven themselves together so perfectly it works.  
But she still hasn't let him apologize. Maybe a bit further down the road. In Draco’s mind, he still needs to say sorry, needs to let her know that he didn't want it to  
happen, didn't want any of it. It’s okay, though, he guesses. For now. 

[.]

Hermione persuades him to meet up with all of their mutual friends one weekend, and it’s not as bad as he thought it was going to be. True, it’s a far smaller group than he thought it would be, but as she doles out reasons for it, he decides that she wishes it was larger and stops pressing. 

They meet everyone for lunch at the place where they went for their first dinner date. Harry’s there, looking quiet without the Weaslette by his side, and there’s Theo, of course, and then Luna, and lastly, Blaise. Pansy’s still out of the country, perhaps somewhere in Italy, nursing her wounds after the pitiful breakup with Flint, and Greg is in St. Mungo’s for various reasons Draco didn't want to go into with at the moment. They smile and chat and everyone’s alright, work going well, love lives going poorly as a general consensus. It’s nice, seeing all of them and being with her, not really talking about anything in particular, but it’s still nice. He doesn't see his friends often enough. 

Harry smirks when he figures out they’re together, Blaise rolls his eyes, and Theo grins at Draco, remembering their game plan. Draco grins back. Lunch is fun for everyone, and somehow, they all actually seem to get along, Gryffindors and Slytherins and the singular Ravenclaw. It’s perfect, just like every day’s been since he saw her and she agreed to go out with him. Hermione asks Harry if he’s heard anything about Ron, and he hasn’t, and they both wonder. Draco doesn’t glare when the name’s mentioned, and the two of them aren’t a problem; Hermione said they weren’t. He just savors the time with their friends and sitting next to her, and it’s great. 

[.]

As a general rule, Draco knows that most things have to end. Included with that is the honeymoon period with Hermione. And so it does, three weeks after having lunch with their friends. They are lying down on the couch after another fantastic shag, covered in sweat, and breathing hard. Draco should know that his post orgasmic self isn't always quite coherent or the best at thinking, but he doesn't, and manages to engage in conversation with Hermione. This, he’s subconsciously aware, will most likely cause problems. “Why did you want to apologize so much?” she asks, looking over at him. 

“Because- because,” he says, trying to form the words. “Because I thought you deserved them.”

“Why?”

“You- you went through a lot,” he says, not really knowing what he’s saying. 

“I don't want you fucking pity, okay?” Hermione says loudly, and gets up, starting to get dressed and he can feel a rant coming on. “Is that what I was to you?  
Something to pity and apologize to for redemption, maybe?”

“No, Hermione, it’s not that,” Draco pleads. “I just- I wanted to apologize for everything that I’ve done, and for what happened.”

“We all went through shite in the war, Draco. And it doesn’t fucking matter anymore. Some of us understand that,” Hermione says icily, and walks into the other room.  
Draco sighs and pulls his own clothes on. He’s aware he’s gone and fucked everything up monumentally by bringing up the stupid war. He’s been with her for a month and three quarters; he should know that she wants to forget the war rather than make it better. It’s her healing process, and he can’t really argue with it, everyone has to do it. 

“Hermione,” he whines, and of course he knows he’s whinging, but he needs to talk to her. 

She doesn’t come out. But he’s not going to leave, because he fucking loves her and he needs her, but maybe she needs space right now. This isn’t giving up, he tells himself after he walks out of the apartment to stand in the icy weather. 

[.]

He’s been enduring the awful silence from Hermione for a whole week when he finally cracks. Draco runs to her office in the middle of the work day and began beating on the door. “Hermione, please fucking talk to me! I need to make this better, okay?”

The door stays locked. Draco’s decently pleased with himself for not apologizing while on his knees, though. It’s hard not to when she’s mad and doesn’t want an apology, and everything’s a mess. He wants her back. He’s in love with her, something that he knows now. Theo would smirk at him if he heard that. He’s an evil mess, and she’s a collected Order of Merlin winning war hero, and he doesn’t deserve her. Draco walks back to his office, trying to forget, trying to fall out of love and failing miserably, and it’s impossible, because once you love someone, you don’t stop, and he should know that. 

He goes home from work early and goes to sleep early because when he’s sleeping, he’s not thinking and that’s good because if he thinks then he thinks of her. And he doesn’t fucking want to. Not right now. 

[no.]

Hermione hasn’t spoken to Draco in too long. She misses him. So she goes to the next best thing: Theodore Nott. He’s been a rock she can rant to ever since they all started working at the Ministry, their friendship staying different from her and Draco’s relationship. And of course she knows how platonic they are, because she wants someone that actually cares about her as more than a friend, and he just wants a slag that’s decently easy. 

She paces around in his apartment, with him staring at her the whole time. “I think I know what this is about,” he says. 

Hermione whirls around on him. “Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he responds. “Have you heard about Adrian Pucey recently?”

She shakes her head no. “Oh. Well, he tried to get rid of his Mark, actually. Just wanted to forget that the whole war happened, that he was ever involved in that shite.”

Hermione tries to keep her gaze with Theo level. She has a sneaking feeling that this is some sort of stupid metaphor that she’s going to hate. “I see,” she responds. 

“Yeah, well, I kept my mark, see?” he responds, waving his arm around. Yeah, this is going to be an idiotic metaphor. 

“Yeah,” she responds. “So?”

“Well, some people want to keep their marks, and then others want to forget they ever existed.”

“How does one keep a mark?” asks Hermione, wondering now exactly how this applied to her and Draco. As far as she knows, he hasn’t done anything stupid to try to get rid of his mark, right? 

Theo looks toward her. “Well, sometimes, they- I just kind of agreed with myself that it happened, that it was shite, and to move on.”

“Oh.”

“But you can keep a mark in some other ways too, I guess. You can hold on as hard as you can and never let go, or you can not forget and apologize to everyone for it. Or everyone that matters, actually.”

“Oh. What makes someone worth apologizing to?”

Theo responds with, “Well, usually you care a fuckton about them.”

Hermione gulps. “I need to talk to him,” she says. “I think I have a lot I have to tell him.”

“Good,” he replies, and she rushes out of Theo’s flat. Hermione thinks that she’ll take the muggle way there, just walk there in the rain, because it’s romantic and it’ll give her time to think. Why does Draco really caring about her matter so much? Because she’s in love with him. Her brain answers so quickly Hermione nearly jumps. She tries to think about it a little more but there’s something lodged in between her brain and her consciousness. It’s being in love, she thinks. She hasn’t felt this way in- ever. She’s never been in love before, and now she is. And strangely enough, it’s perfect. Except for the fact that he might never forgive her or talk to her again.  
It’s not the being in love with him part that she’s scared of, Hermione realizes. It’s losing him. And she can fucking not do that. So she apparates to his flat in the pouring rain, the place she knows so well, and knocks on the door loudly. He comes to the door, and she holds her breath. What if he doesn’t let her in? What then?  
He opens the door and she lets out that breath. “I need to talk to you,” they blurt out at the same time. Hermione holds up her hand. “Me first.”

He nods. And then everything that Hermione’s been bottling up for the past few weeks, saving for an explosion that hasn’t come, just pours out. “I’m sorry. I was using you.”

Draco tries to open his mouth to speak, but she holds a finger up to his mouth. “I was using you to forget about the war, just trying to pretend that it didn’t happen and we were just a normal couple, and all that shite. That’s why I didn’t let you apologize. Because I guess that would have made it real, you know?”

Hermione pauses for a breath, and Draco starts talking. “What do you mean? How was not letting me apologize using me?”

“I just- I guess I wanted to pretend that we were normal, that nothing was wrong and hadn’t ever been.”

“How?”

“Maybe by- By just pretending that the war didn’t happen and we were just a normal couple. Do you- do you think that we might have gotten together at Hogwarts if there hadn’t been a war and you hadn’t been so prejudiced?”

“I hope so. I fucking hope so.” The words tumble out of his mouth, so quickly that Hermione’s temporarily surprised. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Good,” she says fiercely, and hugs him tightly. “You can apologize to me if you want.”

“Good.”

And then they’re kissing and in love and she doesn’t ever want it to end she doesn’t even care that there might be a bit too much tongue because love sort of erases that kind of thing and she’s never been in love before but Draco Malfoy might be a great first choice and Hermione’s wondering if he always tastes like peppermint and fresh starts and in her opinion love tastes a lot like that but of course all kisses have to end and this one ends when the awning over top of his apartment suddenly decides that it doesn’t like keeping water off of people and they are soaked and Draco ushers her inside still laughing still soaked still desperately in love and it’s okay they can use each other until they’re all used up and there’s only love left over but it doesn’t matter anymore because love conquers all and there is certainly love right here now. 

They are standing inside of the flat and then the kissing starts again, aggressive and hot and perfect for right now. And then he guides her into his room and onto his bed. Draco’s fingers feel like they’re burning through her skin and she shivers. It’s magical how evident his care is in his fingertips. His next kiss sends shivers right towards her core, and she starts to unbutton his shirt because she wants to touch him, feel him close to her. He shrugs out of it when and pulls hers off. Soon enough, they’re both undressed, scars and armor alike shown by the absence of clothes. His lips gently brush against the scar on her arm. Mudblood. Does he care anymore? 

Their next kiss is long and slow and she can feel him positioned between her legs. His dick rubs gently against her clit, and she feels that delicious heat pooling between her legs. Hermione grabs Draco’s shoulder and drags him closer to her. Their kiss is deep this time, and that’s when she knows. There’s not going to be anyone after him. Draco’s it. And she doesn’t care doesn’t care and maybe that’s why when they kiss again she feels sparks inside of herself so remarkable that Hermione’s surprised she didn’t come right there and then he’s inside of her rubbing her clit and rocking against her hips gently and the sweet torture of his cock might just kill her but she wouldn’t really care because she’s in love and the edge of the cliff is so close to fucking close and then finally she falls off and they both moan as it happens and as he spills his seed inside of her he kisses her again and now even heaven seems attainable to her. 

Slowly, Draco pulls out of her and flops over onto the right side of the bed. She groans a bit at the loss of contact, and Draco gets it, understands that she wants to touch him, and grabs her fingers and kisses them carefully. Hermione knows it now, she’s in love with Draco, she won’t give him up for anything ever and he helps her heal. They might not be a perfect fit right now, but they’re healing each other. And that’s what matters right now. 

[yes.]

After they’ve kissed and made up (and done a lot more than kissed, if he’s being honest with himself) Draco has to go through some desperately important self searching. Until Hermione wakes up and attempts to strangle him with her hair by rolling over. 

“Hey,” Hermione says, looking up.

“Hey,” he replies. 

“I used you, Draco,” she says calmly, as if it’s something that’s just a fact.

“What do you mean?” Draco asks, still not sure if everything is okay. 

“I was looking for something normal. I made you pretend it was something normal. And we weren’t. We weren’t ever,” she says, leaning over to hug him tightly. “I wanted to forget that it ever happened.”

“It’s okay,” he replies. 

She shakes her head, her bushy, beautiful, wonderful hair flying into his mouth again. “No, it’s not. I shouldn’t have. So now you can use me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can apologize. If you want,” she says. “It it’ll help you feel better. I don’t need it but-”

“Good,” Draco says. And so it begins. 

[.] 

Two hours later, their faces are both streaked with tears, and he’s still apologizing. Hermione looks like she really, really wants to tell him to shut the fuck up, but she doesn’t. She’s thrown in a few apologies herself, too. They’re dragging out the skeletons from the hypothetical closet burning the old letters kissing the hurt away getting rid of the icy stings of hatred and anger and competition because this is something they need to do that they had to do and it’s almost over and he keeps telling himself that this was bringing them closer and getting rid of the old hurt so that there’s room for the new hurt and he fucking knows there’s going to new hurt but it’s better than old pain and now he thinks they might be done and she’s kissing away the old tears and pain and it’s going to be better he knows because of this and they’re going to heal each other. 

When they’re done, Draco kisses her gently, and he hopes that she knows what this kiss is, that this kiss is forgetting the past and the start of something new. They’re something new. And she seems to get it, she understands that this isn't anything from the past right now, and they’re leaving that behind. A new start is exactly what they need.

[no.]

They have their new start the next day. They hold hands in Diagon Alley and kiss and she wonders what she was doing with anyone else because fresh starts taste like peppermint and perfection and peacefulness all at once because they have something new that’s not going to go away any time soon or perhaps ever. 

The new start includes meeting Narcissa Malfoy a month later and playing nicely and icily while Draco is incredibly nervous and speaks in a high pitched voice. The result of the tete a tete is a mutual understanding that they want Draco happy and the decision that they won't meddle in the other’s affairs. All unspoken, of course.  
But they’re happy in the new enclave of life that they’ve carved out filled with new starts and kisses and the kind of beauty that only new love brings. Even though people don't like it. Especially because of that. And people talk, they do talk, about the Death Eater Malfoy heir and the harlot Mudblood war heroine. But they don't care because they’re in love and they have a fresh start that’s so perfect they can barely believe it and it’s wonderful, perfect, and beautiful. 

[.]

Three months later, Draco moves into her flat the day after they’ve gotten engaged. No one comes to help them because he really hasn’t got all that much to pack and they’re in the middle of purging a bunch of shite they don’t want anymore for their fresh start. 

She starts in the living room and throws out ancient Daily Prophets and letters and discovers a pair of yellow knickers underneath the couch. The room is significantly less cluttered than before they started. Draco holds her hand when he has finished bringing in his trunk. “I remember those knickers,” he laughs, pointing to the dusty garment. “They kind of reminded me of the sun when I first saw them.”

“Really?” and inspects them closer. The knickers go into the keep pile. 

They continue going through the rooms, throwing away anything they don’t need. Draco walks out of her room a few minutes later, while she’s walking through the kitchen and getting rid of the cookbooks they never use. He’s holding a large deep purple bottle of a habit forming controlled substance, also known as Dreamless Sleep, also known as the thing that Hermione consistently drinks after supper with her tea. “Do you need this, love?”

His question is asked with a somewhat pointed voice. Hermione smiles back at him. “No, I don’t. Not anymore,” she says, and throws the purple bottle into the garbage can. It shatters into a million pieces. Draco smiles back at her proudly. But it’s true, she doesn’t need it anymore. Not since she started sleeping with him at her side. No more nightmares. No more apologies for something he couldn’t control. They’re fixing each other. Love seems to do that to people. 

[.]

Hermione is standing in her room three months later, positively freaking out. Speaking of positive… She grimaces. It’s awful. His mother is going to kill her. Both of them. She’s pregnant. It won’t matter that they’ve been engaged for six months and she’s only about three weeks along, he’ll be blasted from the tapestry and disinherited. How the hell could they bungle such a simple charm? This is not good. 

She frowns as she looks in the mirror. No signs of it it yet, really. Maybe if they just get the wedding done with quickly, the whole healthy premature baby thing will fade away into the distance. Hermione turns away from it when Draco enters the bathroom. “Hey, love,” he says, leaning over and whispering in her ear. Hermione can’t stop smiling at the sound of his voice. 

“Hey. Look, I have something to tell you.”

“What is it?” 

“I’m pregnant.”

Draco blinks, once, twice. Hermione holds her breath. “Okay,” he says. “What do you want to do?”

“I don't know.”

He cocks his head to the side looking confused and a bit worried. “Everything’s usually a bit clearer after sex. Wanna shag?”

“Yes,” Hermione replies, and after bounding towards him, starts unbuttoning his shirt. Everything is a little better after sex. Even a baby. They’re pretty much bereft of clothes now, and each kiss is hot and perfect and a clarifying factor. He braces her up against the wall and lifts her legs around him. His mouth his Gold Standard of a mouth is attacking her breasts biting and sucking at them and she leans towards him and feels his cock hard against her leg and everything’s perfect right now because Draco’s fucking right everything even a baby is a little better when your fiance is rubbing your clit up against the wall of a bathroom and he kisses her hard with teeth and tongues and it’s perfection more or less just like everything’s been for the last few months.

He plunges into her wet cunt and the feeling is so intense she almost comes right then and there. On his next thrust, though, he hits the perfect angle exactly right and she’s shoved into a nearly screaming orgasm, strong enough to make her forget. He keeps thrusting and the waves of shock pulse through her and she’s quickly being pushed towards another one and this one is a bit less intense, but it’s okay because this time, he comes with her at the same time. Draco’s head leans forward onto her neck as they both feel the knife edge of climax on their heels and hisses, “Hermione,” into her ear and that act, that single act is what causes her to fall to pieces at his next touch. 

She groans as he pulls out, the loss of contact almost hurting her physically. Draco clutches her hand, knowing how this makes her feel, and she smiles, loving that he knows that about her. The baby situation feels a lot better now. A lot. 

“So,” he says, breathing heavily. “What do you want to do about the baby?”

“Just keep going as planned. Screw your mother.”

Draco grins. “Somehow I don't think you’d quite be up to that at the moment.”

Hermione shoves him playfully. “Shut up.”

[.]

They get married a week after that. She’s still not showing and no one fusses when she doesn't drink. Hermione thanks Merlin for the way Narcissa Malfoy manages to not look at some things. 

The wedding is perfect. 

Draco and Hermione wear clothes that show off the marks on their arms. No one says anything. Fresh starts, indeed.


End file.
